


Truth Ache, take 2

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Twangst Stories [7]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because I'm a sucker for that, Family, Fighting, Gen, Hairbrushes, Hurt/Comfort, Journals, Mabel being manipulative but meaning well, NERVOUS DIPPER, Post-Episode: s02e14 The Stanchurian Candidate, References to Bill Cipher, Stangst, Stubborn Grunkles, Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Mabel is tired of her grunkles' fighting, and decides to resort to stronger measures to get them to talk to each other.





	1. Mabel means well

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this comes after "The Stanchurian Candidate." It references the truth teeth part of "Bottomless Pit."  
> Hopefully I don't need to explain further.

Mabel had been holed up in her and Dipper’s room in the attic for almost an hour; when asked, she said that she was working on a big project.

In Dipper’s book, that was usually a sign that she was planning something crazy.  And when he saw that his twin was also holding one of their Great Uncle Ford’s journals open on her lap, and had a pile of items next to her on the bed, he was sure that very bad things were about to happen.

 

“Mabel?” he asked, stepping through the doorway of their room with an apprehensive expression on his face.

“Oh hi Dipper,” she said without looking up, as she scribbled something in a notebook with one of her favorite pens (it had a cluster of bright pink feathers on top, including a few super long ones that bent at a weird angle, so it looked a little like a flamingo with a bad hair day), “Don’t worry, Great Uncle Ford let me borrow this, or at least he’s just been leaving it in the basement unattended so he probably won’t mind that I’m using it.”

“What are you planning on doing with it?”  Dipper decided to focus on what seemed like the more alarming issue at the moment.

Mabel grinned.  “I’m going to make our grunkles talk to each other and admit how much they still love each other!”

 

For a second all Dipper could do was gape at her, before starting to splutter, “How-”

“With this!”  She lifted the journal and turned it so her brother could see that it was open to a section titled, ‘Evitceles Truth Spell.’

“Mabel!” Dipper squawked.  “Do you not remember what happened the _last_ time you tried forcing the truth on Grunkle Stan?!  He nearly got arrested again!”

Mabel gave him a wounded look.  “Of course I remember! This time is different, silly!”  Setting the book back on her lap, she said, “The spell can be focused so it only affects particular people a certain way.  I’m going to set it so our grunkles are only forced to tell the truth to each other. That way they won’t publicly embarrass anyone or get arrested.”

“Unless one of them kills the other because he doesn’t like what he hears,” Dipper pointed out.

 

His sister just scoffed, and read through her list again as she scooted off the bed and began drawing a chalk circle on the floor.

“Bit of DNA from the people you want to cast the spell on...check!”  She reached for the pile, and produced two hairbrushes with tufts of gray hair stuck between the bristles; she set them at either end of the circle.

“Lapis lazuli stones...check!”  She began placing small blue rocks around the edges of the chalk.

“Where did you find-” Dipper began.

“Not important!”

Mabel checked her list again.  “Pretty purple candles...check!”

Two tall candles that were, indeed, purple were set next to the hairbrushes, and lit.

“Now I just need to read the incantation, and-”

“ _Mabel!_ ”

 

When she looked up, it was to see her twin with his hands on his hips, and an even more disapproving than usual frown on his face.

“This is a horrible idea!” he scolded.  “You can’t just _force_ people to act the way you want them to-haven’t you learned that by now?  And besides-” his voice faltered for a second- “what if they really _don’t_ care about each other anymore?”

Mabel gasped, before her eyebrows drew together in a fierce glare.  “That’s a _terrible_ thing to say, Dipper!”

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t be true!” he retorted.  “You doing this might just make things worse! If they really wanna talk, they’ll do it when they’re ready-”

“But it seems like they’re _never_ gonna be ready!” Mabel wailed.

 

For a moment the twins froze, her words echoing through the rafters.  Then Mabel said, in a softer voice, “I’m worried that they’re never gonna talk to each other, because they’re both too stubborn about everything that happened to admit that they made mistakes.  And it’s hurting both of them, I can tell. I just...wanna give them a little push. So they can be family again.”

Well, when she put it that way…

Dipper sighed.

“I’m probably gonna regret this.”

A few seconds later he was trying unsuccessfully to fend off Mabel’s tackle-hug.


	2. Let's get ready to RUMBLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I worked on this at a really weird hour of the morning.  
> Granted, I took a really long nap during the day so my internal clock is all screwy, but still.  
> Please be kind.

Ford Pines could not find his hairbrush.

It felt almost like there should be a song about that, he thought idly as he searched the clutter of his desk again, in the hope that he had somehow missed its location.

Having no success, he sighed and took the route he’d hoped he would avoid: upstairs into what was basically everyone else’s territory.

 

It wasn’t that big a deal, honestly: one of the nice things about being male was that if he had to, he could just rake his fingers through his hair and it looked fine.  It wasn’t like he needed the brush that much. But it was a matter of principle: something that belonged to him was missing, and he wanted it back.

With any luck, Mabel or Dipper had borrowed it for some reason, and he could quickly retrieve it without needing to run into-

Stanley was right there in the kitchen, in his underwear and fez, stuffing something greasy and unhealthy-looking into his mouth.

Of course.

 

As soon as he realized that his twin was there, Stan became very interested in digging through the cupboard in front of him, his shoulders tightening.

Ford swallowed, managing not to look at the edge of the mark peeking out from under his undershirt, and asked, “Have you seen my hairbrush?”

Stan’s hand tightened on the cupboard door, to the point where it looked like it would actually snap under his fingers.  “Why would I take your hairbrush?” he asked, defensiveness bristling from every syllable.

“I’m not _saying_ you took it!”  Ford’s voice came out with more sharp annoyance than he meant it to.  “I’m just _asking_ if you’ve seen it anywhere!”

There was only a minimum easing of tension in Stan’s frame before he shrugged.  “I don’t even know where mine is.”

Huh.  Now that was interesting; it was too much of a coincidence for both of their brushes to be missing at once.  Ford wondered if there was some kind of new hairbrush-eating monster hanging around the shack. Or maybe the gnomes had returned; it wasn’t too far off from their normal _modus operandi_ , though he couldn’t imagine why they would want them.  Or even that invisible wizard again.

He would have to ask the children if any of their hair care items had suddenly disappeared.

 

As long as he was upstairs, Ford decided that he might as well get something to eat.  He had some leftover brisket in the fridge that suddenly sounded very good to his stomach, so he popped the door open and found the right container-

Half the brisket was gone.

Spinning around with fire in his eyes, Ford held out the tupperware and glared at Stanley (because who else would be responsible?).

“Did you eat this?!”

Stanley slowly turned, jaw clenching a little, and opened his mouth.

“Not all of it; I shared some with the pig.  I figured you weren’t gonna finish it since you’re too busy doing nerd stuff with Dipper to think about things like eating, and even if you found out I could always try to blame Soos-”

Surprisingly, he stopped himself from continuing to talk by clamping his own hand over his mouth.  His eyes widened in unexpected horror for a second, before he bolted from the kitchen.

* * *

Ford was so surprised at his brother’s exit that for another second all he could do was blink and splutter in confusion, before he went tearing after him.

“STANLEY!”

He found Stan in the bathroom, staring at his teeth in the mirror.

No, really, he was pushing back his gums and taking a long look at them, his breathing very loud and almost frantic.

After a few seconds, though, he closed his lips and sighed.

“I thought it was those darn teeth again.”

Ford forgot whatever annoyed comment he’d been about to make.  “The truth teeth? You found them?”

Stan shook his head.  “No, a month or whatever ago those kids found them, then for some reason they put them in my mouth and-”

His eyes widened, and then narrowed.

“ _KIDS!_ ”

 

Ford couldn’t help the gleeful smile as he rushed after his brother’s stomping feet up towards the attic.

“They must have discovered the truth spell I wrote down,” he commented in sudden realization.  “This should be a novel experience for you, Stanley, having to speak honestly.”

Stan retorted by making a certain gesture over his shoulder as they reached the kids’ room, before pounding his fist on the door.  Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the knob and tried to force it open. It was locked.

“KIDS!  Open up!” he bellowed, bending and glaring through the keyhole.  But then his stance changed, becoming curious instead of hostile, and he tilted his head with interest.

Ford raised his eyebrow.  “What is it?”

Stan straightened up, patting his shorts and then glancing down at his slippered feet, before sighing.  “Hold that thought.” And he rushed off to his own room.

 

Ford, his own curiosity piqued, took a peek inside.

There was no sign of Mabel or Dipper, but he could see a chalk circle in the middle of the floor, with two lit candles standing and facing each other at two ends, and he could make out a brush in the middle.

Yes, that was the truth-telling spell, all right.  He didn’t remember all the details, except that the magic would last until the candles had completely melted.

_And those are some tall candles.  Stanley is going to have a very rough day._

He emphatically denied to himself any sort of pity he might be feeling, or guilt for thinking that he was going to enjoy this.

 

Then he was shoved aside as Stan returned, holding a small gold key which he used to open the door, and headed for the circle.  Ford realized all too quickly what his twin was planning to do.

“Stanley, you can’t!”  He grabbed Stan’s wrist before he could grab one of the candles.

Stan snatched his arm away like Ford had burned him-again-and gave him a withering snarl.  “Try and stop me.”

“This spell is not something you want to mess with!  It can only be broken when the candles melt and go out on their own-if you try to sabotage the circle in any way, it’ll force you to speak nothing but the truth for the rest of your life!”

Stan shuddered as the implications quickly kicked in, and stepped away.  “I’m surprised you’re not encouraging me to do it then.”

“Just because I’m still mad at you for sending me to another dimension for thirty years and turning my house into a tacky tchotchke shop doesn’t mean I want to force something like that on you-!”

Now it was Ford’s turn to clamp a hand over his mouth.

 

Stan stared at him for two seconds, before his head turned back to the circle.  And then a slow, evil grin rose on his face, just like that time when he’d come up with the plan to hide a pile of dead fish in Crampelter’s locker over the weekend.

Ford’s eyes drifted in that direction too, and saw, to his horror, what he hadn’t noticed before: there was not just one hairbrush lying in the circle.

“Oh, no….”

“Oh, yes,” Stan said gleefully (both in the traditional sense and in that he suddenly bore a passing resemblance to a certain demented child psychic).  “You’re in the same boat with me, Poindexter!”

* * *

(From their hiding place on the roof, Dipper shrank down a little behind his book and hoped this plan wouldn’t have any terrible repercussions for once.  Mabel just smiled contentedly and basked in the sun, scratching Waddles’s back lazily while decorating her scrapbook with her other hand.

“Just wait, bro-bro,” she said.  “Everything is going to turn out great.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mabel's sake, I hope she's right.  
> P.S. Kudos to anyone who gets the reference at the beginning.  
> P.P.S. I figure the candles and brushes and stuff were pointed to the door, so they were basically lined up, and that's why Ford couldn't see the other brush at first. If you have any physics or whatever-based objections to this, recite the MST3K mantra and tell them to the complaints department.


	3. Ugly Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't help myself; I had to get this out as soon as possible.  
> My muses (not the evil one-eyed kind, the curmudgeonly kings of New Jersey kind) just made this flow from my brain straight to my fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some pretty big cans of worms are opened here.  
> You have been warned.

Stan, despite his previous elation over his brother being under the same spell he was, was now back to blatantly ignoring Ford.  He accomplished this by sitting down on Dipper’s bed with his back to him, planning out to himself just how badly the kids were going to be grounded when he got his hands on them.

 

Ford, meanwhile, picked up his journal from its place on Mabel’s bed and frantically read through the section about the spell as he paced, looking for any type of loophole they could exploit.

There wasn’t one.

With a groan he slammed it shut and stuffed it into his coat pocket; it seemed he needed to find a more secure place for all three of his journals, if he wanted to prevent this kind of incident from happening again.

Without meaning to, his eyes drifted back towards his twin.  Specifically, to his shoulder.

He nearly kept his mouth shut, but then thought, _Well, might as well make good use of this stupid curse while it lasts_ , and asked, “Did you ever get that looked at?”

Stan glanced at him with a bit of a question in his eyes.

Ford gestured to the shoulder with his chin.  “Or did you have to treat it yourself?”

Stanley’s jaw clenched, and on what seemed like a reflex he tugged his undershirt until the burn mark was covered.  “When I first came here, all I had in my pockets was a paperclip, a packet of sugar and one peso. Of _course_ I had to handle it myself.”  His tone was sharp with old bitterness.  For a second it seemed like he was going to add something, probably along the lines of “no thanks to you,” but instead he pulled off his fez, began idly playing with it (obviously so that he could do something with his hands and avoid eye contact).

Against his will, Ford’s stomach lurched.

 

After about thirty seconds, Stan looked back at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You...get hurt a lot?  While you were traveling?”

Ford almost felt the magic pushing at his throat, compelling him to answer, and clenched his teeth down on his lower lip.

Stan glared at his reluctance.  “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to play Twenty Questions.  It’s only fair.”

With a reluctant sigh he admitted, “At first.  Eventually I got better at making the things attacking me get hurt instead.  But...sometimes they still got lucky.”

Stan flinched, and went back to twirling his hat.  “Your turn.”

 

Well, time to open another can of worms.

“Did you mean to break my project?”

Maybe it was a dumb, pointless question to ask after forty years, but he still wanted to know.

Stan’s hands tightened on the fez.  “I told you I didn’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”  Maybe he was splitting hairs, but that didn’t feel like a straight answer, and it would be just like Stanley to find a way around the stipulations of the spell.  “Yes or no, did you mean to-”

“NO, okay?!” Stan snarled, finally turning to face him head on.  “I didn’t mean to break your stupid project! I pounded my fist on the table, and a panel fell off, and I put it back on and told myself that it would be fine!  I didn’t know that would make it stop working, or that those dumb college people would decide you didn’t deserve to go to their stupid school!”

His chest heaved up and down a few times, before he let out a loud exhale.

Ford swallowed.  “...Good. I’d worried you were just trying to stay in the childrens’ good graces when you said that.”

Stan’s eyebrows drew together behind his glasses.  “Good to know you still think so highly of me.”

Interesting; apparently the spell didn’t impede your ability to use sarcasm.  Maybe it had an ability to recognize voice tones, or the intent behind the words you were speaking.  Ford pulled out the journal and a pen, flipped back to the right page and scribbled down this observation.  Without looking at his brother, he said, “Your turn.”

 

Stanley was quiet for almost a minute before he asked, “Did Pa ever talk about me?”

Ford finally raised his eyes from the page.

“Ever?” Stan persisted.  “Or did he just forget about me and decide he only had two sons?”

“I-he never talked about you again while I was still living with him and Ma.  I dunno about when I went to school either. But I know he never forgot you. I...saw it sometimes, in things he said and did.”  This time swallowing was a lot harder. “Ma would sometimes let me know if she heard from you, though. She always said that you told her you were doing fine.”

“That’s because I didn’t want her to know that I wasn’t-” Stan growled in frustration, clenching his jaw again and probably cursing this spell.

 

“What happened to them?” Ford finally asked.

Stan shrugged.  “They’re dead.”

That wasn’t much of a surprise, but it stung to hear, just a little.  Even though he’d technically asked his question already and it was supposed to be Stan’s turn, Ford continued, “Did you ever...see them again?”

Stan flat-out scoffed, shook his head.  “H_ll no. You think I could’ve made them believe I was you?  We couldn’t fool Ma when we pretended to be each other as kids, there was no way I could do it after ten years.  I barely managed to fool Shermy.”

“...Please tell me you at least went to their funerals.”

The only response was a small head shake no.

Ford gave him a look somewhere between shock and disgust.  “I can’t believe you.”

“Hey!”  Stan pulled himself up, stabbing an accusing finger at his twin’s face.  “Don’t you get all high and mighty on me when this is the first time you’ve even thought to _ask_ about them since you came back!”

It felt a little like Ford had been given a slap to the ego.

“Besides,” he continued vehemently, “Pa said until I could make millions, I wasn’t welcome in his house.  He would have rolled over in his grave if I came to his funeral.” The bitterness had returned with a vengeance.

 

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t-”

“Hadn’t _what_ , Stanford?!  If I hadn’t broke your project?  I _know_ that I screwed up and what happened was my fault, I’ve spent the last forty years of my life _paying_ for it, I don’t need you to remind me!”  The fez was tossed unceremoniously onto Dipper’s pillow.

“I was _going_ to say,” Ford said, with just a touch of acidity as he tried to calm his own rising temper, “that _maybe_ if you hadn't been so stubborn, and tried reconciling with Dad after a few years or something, he would have let it go.”

Stanley gave him a Look.  “This is _Dad_ we’re talking about.  He was probably glad for an excuse to get rid of me, just like you are.”

 

He didn’t give Ford a chance to let out the retort he was still struggling to form into coherent speech.

“You’re planning on kicking me out at the end of the summer, same as him,” Stan said, folding his arms.  “How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

“W-what else do you expect me to do?!” Ford demanded.  “Live in my basement for the rest of my life while you walk around using _my name_ to show people fake, overpriced anomalies?!”

“What part of ‘I set up the Mystery Shack to earn a livelihood so I could stay here and figure out how to fix the portal and find you’ did you not understand?!”

“I didn’t _want_ the portal to be fixed!  I left explicit instructions for it never to be used again-”

* * *

(The yelling was getting more and more uncomfortable to listen to by the second; Dipper and Mabel were no strangers to getting into fights with your sibling, of course, but they were never like _this_.  Never with layer upon layer of pent-up anger and hurt that seemed to be just concealing another dozen layers waiting to be dragged into the light.

Dipper realized that he had just read the same sentence twice in a row, and closed the book with a small sigh.  He listened as Ford’s voice rose angrily, only to be cut off mid-sentence by Stan shouting something back at him, and his stomach clenched in discomfort.

Then Mabel scooted over next to him and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Maybe we should go hang out in the gift shop with Soos and Wendy for a while,” she suggested.  “I didn’t realize they were gonna get this loud.”

Dipper smiled gratefully, and peered over the edge of the roof.  “Mind breaking out the grappling hook to get us down?”

His twin grinned.  “I thought you’d never ask!”)

* * *

“-and if you had just _taken_ my journal when I asked you to, none of this would have happened!” Ford finished his rebuttal, his face flushed red from his sympathetic nervous system causing vasodilation.

“ _Why_?!” Stan demanded, his own complexion infused with the same primary color, “What made those stupid journals so important?!”

The words came flying out before Ford could try to repress them.

“Because I need to keep the world safe from Bill Cipher!!”

 

Stanley blinked a few times.  Then he asked slowly, “Who’s Bill Sulfur?”

“Cipher.  His name is Bill Cipher.”

“Whatever.”

Ford swallowed.  “He...is a being from another dimension who convinced me to build the portal in the first place.  I thought he was trying to help me find the answers I was seeking, but I learned that he planned to use it to get into our world and make it his personal plaything.”

Stan tilted his head.  “He’s not a yellow triangle in a top hat, is he?”

It was like a wave of heat rushed up Ford’s spine all the way to his neck.  “How did you-”

“He showed up in my dreams once, tried to steal the combination to my safe.  But the kids got rid of him, no problem.”

This felt wrong; if he had known Bill the way Ford did, Stanley wouldn’t be able to talk about him so casually, like it was no big deal for him to turn up _in his mind_ , he was lucky Bill hadn’t tried-

“He didn’t try to make any deals with you, did he?!” Ford abruptly demanded, fighting down the urge to grab a flashlight and shine it right in his brother’s eyes.

Stan stepped back, looking alarmed.  “No, he wasn’t even interested in talking to me.  He just wanted to get into my memories.”

 _He can’t lie to me as long as the spell is in place_ , Ford reminded himself, glancing over at the still-pretty-tall candles and trying to calm the pulse he could feel racing in his neck.

Then Stan snorted, smiled weakly.  “Careful, Sixer, you actually sound a little concerned about me.”

 

Maybe it was his using the same nickname Bill occasionally had.

Maybe it was the anger and adrenaline still racing through his system.

Whatever the reason, Ford glared at his brother, and said with rising vehemence, “Bill Cipher is the reason why I wanted you to hide my journal, so it could never be used to turn the portal back on and offer him a potential opportunity to enter our world.  And thanks to your completely ignoring my warnings and doing so anyway, you created a small interdimensional rift that he could use to do just that unless I manage to get it sealed properly!”

Now it was Stan’s turn to look like he’d been slapped.  If his twin had been paying attention, however, he would have seen that his hands were starting to clench and shake, warnings which were the equivalent of islanders noticing that their volcano is starting to rumble.

“If you had just paid an iota of attention to what I’d written,” Ford ranted as he started pacing again, “then you would have known how foolish you were being-”

“ _And I would’ve done it anyway!_ ”

 

Ford whirled around, eyes wide.

Stan roared at him, “Don’t you get it?!  I don’t _care_ whatthe consequences were, or _how many_ warnings you wrote, I would’ve opened that portal!  If I could, I woulda gone into it myself, as long as there was any chance at all for me to find you!”

The older twin just gaped at him, wondering how he could possibly give a rebuttal to something like that.

But then it was too late, because Stan’s shoulders were sagging, and he was turning away and whispering, “And I’m starting to wonder...if it was even worth it.  ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, or what I try to fix, I’m still just the screw-up who ruins everything for you and who you want out of your life as soon as possible.”

 

You would think that by now there wouldn’t-couldn’t-possibly be anymore words for Stan to say which could leave Ford feeling like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

You would have sore knees from jumping to conclusions.

Ford took a tentative step forwards.  “Stanley-”

His twin held up a forestalling hand.  “Forget it. I-” his words seemed to fumble for a second- “I want to say that I don’t wanna hear it, even though part of me is wondering what you could have to say-”

A curse of frustration hissed between his teeth, before he stomped out the door, slamming it after him.

* * *

In the magic circle, the puddles of purple wax were growing slowly but steadily.


	4. Hopelessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've spent a lot of time writing from Ford's POV, I noticed, so just to switch things up a little here's a look at Stan's.  
> Warning: it's kind of depressing.

Stan stormed, as best he could while wearing fluffy blue slippers, down the stairs, past the den, out onto the front porch, and ended up flopping onto the sofa that was set up there (any passerby who might be grossed out at seeing an old guy in his underwear sitting on the porch could just deal with it, as far as he was concerned).

As he made himself comfortable, whatever anger was left in his system fizzled out, and he sagged forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

This was why he  _ hated _ telling the truth.

It always left him feeling  _ raw _ inside, and hollow, like his guts had been torn out with a meat hook (which had nearly happened to him once-long story).  All his dark, slimy secrets and the pain that went with them were dragged out of hiding, and it felt horrible.

After a few deep breaths, he was able to lift his head and clean his now-smudged glasses on the front of his undershirt.  Then he nestled his chin back into the spot made by his hands, and stared bleakly out at the forest in front of him.

 

Stan Pines didn’t think of himself as a sentimental man.  He was far too aware of life’s harsh reality to think about things like the beauty of delicate pink flowers or whatever.

But whether he admitted it or not...he loved Gravity Falls.

It was the first place after Glass Shard Beach that he’d been able to call home, and where he could actually stay in a house and sleep in a bed and eat hot meals and not have everyone actively trying to kill him.

Sure, people didn’t ‘like’ or ‘trust’ him here, but that didn’t stop them from buying his merchandise and checking out his exhibits over and over, and that was good enough, right?

It was all he needed to feel happy and fulfilled-or at least it was what he deserved to have, which was close enough.

Right?

 

And then the kids had come for the summer, and been so lively and curious and always getting into trouble, and while that dredged up painful memories it was kind of in a good way, and it encouraged him to get that stupid portal fixed so he could get the rest of his family back, and the shack felt even more like home.

 

But now he was gonna lose it all again.

Because if Stanford wanted him to close down the Mystery Shack, it wasn’t likely he’d be able to get a job anywhere else in town, and besides, how could he continue to stay in the same place as his brother who didn’t want him around?  He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

But where could he possibly go?

Sure, he’d managed to get by traveling around the country for ten years on his own, but back then he’d had two things he didn’t now: youth, and a purpose.

 

Stan let his thoughts drift away, and just watched the trees without really seeing them.

He lost track of time, and barely even noticed his back starting to protest being stuck in this position for so long.

Eventually, though, he heard the sound of footsteps clomping towards the door.

Footsteps that were too heavy for the twins or Wendy, and not clumsy enough to be Soos.

Stan closed his eyes and sighed.

_ Great.  Just great. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious, here is the Evitceles Truth Spell. Yes, I am that big of a nerd. And proud of it.
> 
> Here's one version, forcing one person in particular to speak nothing but truth.
> 
> Pqfofmp qxbod L,  
> Ezrj llq pbfi illc pfeq.  
> Mlqp jfe bhxj bpxbim  
> Qrl kory pbiakxz beq ifqkr qpxbi qx.  
> Bcfi pfe kfro lq qkxt qkla F.
> 
> And here is the other version, for two or more people and limiting who they have to be truthful to.
> 
> Pqfofmp qxbod L,  
> Qrl kolt lq pbrppf bjlp pxe mrlod biqqfi pfeq.  
> Bzkbppb ofbeq rlv obccl F.  
> Obeql ezxb lq paolt ofbeq bhxj  
> Px dkli px olc eqroq qry dkfeqlk  
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	5. More guts are spilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the title is metaphorical.

It was one thing to know, objectively, that Stanley still cared about Ford enough to spend thirty years looking for him.

It was quite another to hear his twin flat-out say that he would have been more than willing to risk unleashing an all-powerful demon on the world if it meant he had a hope of finding him and bringing him home.

For a minute all Ford could do was stand rooted to the spot, before sitting down on Dipper’s bed and dropping his head into his hands, unknowingly doing an almost exact parallel to his twin at the moment.

 

Stan had no idea what Bill was capable of; he hadn’t seen the nightmare realm or witnessed his powers or heard his smug laughter.  But the older twin suspected that his brother spoke the truth; even if he had known, his response would have been unchanged: find Ford.

He should have remembered: Stan’s life philosophy had always been, more or less, “Screw the world, I’m looking out for me and my family.”  Except for that time period where it had probably been, “Screw the world, I’m looking out for me because my family doesn’t care about me anymore.”

Whether or not Ford agreed or thought it was a good idea for Stan to be so recklessly loyal, it wasn’t anything he shouldn’t have expected from him.

And either way, there wasn’t much point holding it against him now.  He just needed to seal up that rift, and the danger would be more contained.

But there were other things he needed to take care of first, as bizarre a notion as that was to the more logical side of his brain.

* * *

It was still a while before Ford worked up the energy to go downstairs.  He made a brief stop in the kitchen, and then headed for the porch.

Stan was sitting on the sofa, hunched over on himself; Ford heard him sigh as he reached the door, and his head twisted over to the left.

_And we’re back to this part of the cycle._

Because that was basically how they had become: when they weren’t fighting hammer and tongs, they were avoiding and ignoring each other.

Ford decided it was far past time to break the cycle.

 

He stepped out onto the porch and sat down on the other end of the sofa, before reaching into his coat pockets and producing the two cans of Pitt cola he’d retrieved from the fridge, holding one out to his brother.

Stan’s head turned a little back in his direction, enough that he could probably see the can in his peripheral vision.

Ford continued offering it.

And then, to his quiet relief, Stan accepted it.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like at least a start.

 

They popped the tabs at around the same time, making a cracking sound echo across the porch that sounded a lot louder than it should have due to their silence.

For a few minutes neither of them spoke; they just sipped their drinks (Stan doing so a little more slurpily) and stared out at the yard, watching the shadows grow as the sun began to set.

Finally, though, Ford decided to bite the bullet.

“I missed you too.”

 

Stan turned his head, finally looking him more or less in the face.

“I did,” Ford insisted.  “I told myself that I didn’t, but I did.  Even when I was at my angriest, I still wished you were there.  If nothing else, because it would allow me to yell at you in person instead of just having made-up arguments in my head.”

Stan let out a snort, and the corners of his mouth turned up a tiny bit.  “You did that too?”

“All the time.  In fact,” he began to smile a little too, “once I accidentally started arguing with you out loud, and my roommate thought I’d been working too hard and tried to subtly suggest that I might want to make an appointment with the school psychologist.”

That got him a flat-out guffaw.  “Mostly I just talked to my reflection, because it was easier to imagine your face there, especially after I started needing these.”  Stan adjusted his glasses. “It meant there were a few times when people thought I was on something.”

Both of them chuckled softly for a moment.

 

When he stopped laughing, Stanley asked, “What do you need to close the rift or whatever?”

Ford grimaced at the change of topic, but said, “There’s an alien crash site not far from here where I can collect an adhesive that’s strong enough to secure it.  It should be okay if I get that done as soon as possible.”

Stan’s mouth opened.

It closed.

It opened again.

Finally he shook his head.  “Y’know what, I’m not even surprised anymore.”

“I should hope not, considering how long you’ve been living here.”

Stan flinched a little at that, and Ford almost wanted to slap himself.

_Way to remind him of a sore topic, you idiot._

 

Before he could bring up the subject of moving, or hopefully the lack thereof, Stan cleared his throat and said, after a couple of false starts, “Sorry.”

“...For what, specifically?”

Stan scoffed.  “You can take your pick, Poindexter.  Everything I screwed up that made you lose valuable opportunities.  Your college, thirty years of your life here, being at the hospital when the kids were born...and probably a lot of other stuff.”

After a second, Ford gave him a bit of a sad smile and a bit of a shrug.  “I screwed up too. I didn’t think about a lot of things that should have been important when I made my decisions.”

Stan blinked, before giving a mock-horrified gasp that sounded like he was trying to cover up an influx of feelings.  “You’re admitting you made mistakes, and that you didn’t think about something?”  He placed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead. “Are you feeling all right?  You must’ve caught some freaky interdimension-whatever disease-”

Ford gently batted his hand away.  “Stanley, I’m trying to have a sincere moment here.”

Stan didn’t look that apologetic, but he just took another swig of his cola.

 

Ford went on, “I should have told you sooner about West Coast Tech being my dream school.  I didn’t think…”

“That I’d mind the idea of spending the rest of my life scraping barnacles off the taffy shop, instead of escaping to sail around the world with you?”  The question was more softly pained than deliberately barbed, but it still stung.

Ford grimaced again.  “I never did like our principal all that much.”

“Except when he told you what a genius you were.”

“I just liked his words, not him as a person.”  He gestured to the shack. “Besides, he turned out to be completely wrong about you.”

Stan looked the tiniest bit smug.

 

“And later, I didn’t think about how it would sound to ask you for help, only to tell you to go as far away from me as possible.  Granted, I was under a great deal of stress at the time because I was worried about the fate of the world, but I should have remembered that ordering you to do anything, especially without explanation, only makes you more stubborn and intractable.  So I apologize for that too.”

Stan gave a small ‘I feel like I shouldn’t agree with that but you’re not exactly wrong’ nod.

“It wasn’t like I made the situation any easier,” he admitted.

“No, but if we had communicated better about a lot of things, many catastrophes could have been avoided.”

* * *

Unexpectedly, Ford placed a tentative hand on Stan’s shoulder.  It happened to be the one with the burn on it, but in a way, that felt kind of appropriate.

“Speaking of which, I’ve thought about it, and...I still want my name back, but you don’t have to leave or close this place down unless you want to.  I wasn’t thinking when I said that-yes, I know, astonishing.” He fended off Stanley’s hand before it could try to feel his forehead again.

 

The rawness and hollowness were gone.

Or at least, they were still there, but they’d stopped being painful.  Instead he felt...warm inside, like everything had been coated in hot chocolate (in a way that wouldn’t cook his insides, obviously).  Even though part of him was still waiting for the inevitable curtains to close in his face again, the warmth wasn’t going away.

Of course, there was a lot they still needed to talk about, preferably without being compelled to by the stupid spell, but Stan Pines already felt better than he had when he first came outside.  Better than he had in decades.

And besides, he was tired of being angry with Ford.  And he got the feeling his brother was feeling the same way.

 

Then, just when he thought things couldn’t get any mushier between them, Ford squeezed his shoulder and said, “Thank you for still caring, Stanley.  Even after everything.”

Stan very suddenly got a large amount of dust in his eye, since those darn kids must not have swept the porch well enough, and had to take a big gulp of soda because that dust had somehow created a lump in his throat.

Once he’d got that under control, he smiled crookedly at Ford.  “Any time.” Then he asked, “Wanna help me plan out how to get revenge on the kids?”

Ford snorted.  “Do you really want to that much?  I think things have turned out rather well thanks to them.”

“That’s not the point; we need to teach them that they can’t cast spells on us and get away with it.”

Ford pursed his lips and gave his head a thoughtful tilt.  “There used to be this one shag carpet in my old room-”

“They found it.”

Ford snapped his fingers.  “Darn.”

“Good thinking, though.  We need a punishment that fits the crime...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, things are looking up for the original Pines twins' friendship!  
> Of course, they now have a bit of a (nonlethal) axe to grind against the younger Pines generation...  
> Probably just one chapter left to go-repent, sinners, the end is near!


	6. Epilogue: Revenge of the Grunkles

It was long after dark before Dipper and Mabel worked up the courage to leave the gift shop and head back into the main part of the house.

“Fare thee well, noble handyman!” Mabel called after Soos as he locked up for the night.

Then she blinked, a little confused.  She didn’t think she’d been planning to say that; she’d just meant to say, “Bye, Soos!”

Right?

On the other hand, she didn’t always think about her words before they left her mouth.  And neither the handyman nor her brother seemed surprised by hearing her say something like that.  So maybe she was just overthinking things.

 

It was with great trepidation that the twins crept into the main part of the house; none of the lights were on downstairs, and even though she knew their uncles wouldn’t do anything to actually hurt them, one of Mabel’s hands inadvertently stole into Dipper’s.

“By my troth,” Dipper whispered, “perchance our agéd yet crafty grunkles wait in the shadows for our approach, the better to surprise us by a sudden flash of lamplight like a bolt of Zeus’s wrath, as hast oft been done in films with adults confronting wayward children-”  Then he finally seemed to process what he had been saying, and both hands clamped over his mouth.

Mabel snorted with laughter.

“Dipper, hast thy body been possessed by the spirit of our friend of old, the waxen figure William Shakespeare?  If not, I fear he has at the least greatly possessed thy tongue.”

_Wait, what?!_

Through the shadows she could make out the rising alarm in her twin’s eyes that matched her own.

And then, even though Dipper had predicted it, both of them jumped and screamed when the light flicked on to reveal both their grunkles, sitting and waiting for them, stone-faced.

* * *

For a few seconds all the pairs of twins did was stare at each other.

Finally, though, Dipper opened his mouth.

“Thou knaves, thou rogues, thou withered fiends who but cling with fingertips to the remnants of life, what devilry is borne upon us from thy crafty, weathered hands?!”

At that Stan couldn’t hold up his stoic expression any longer, and burst into hearty, cackling guffaws.

“It worked!”

Ford, fighting to keep a straight face himself, finally said, “Don’t worry, it’s not permanent.  Just a temporary _lingua Shakespearea_ spell.”

“We wanted to see how _you_ like not being able to control what comes out of your mouth!” Stan said, wiping his eyes under his glasses and still snickering.

“We’ll take it off, eventually.  But first, you have some cleaning up to do.”

 

The cleaning up turned out to be the two huge puddles of melted purple wax now covering a large section of the floor in the kids’ bedroom, with the hairbrushes and moonstones sticking out of them like tiny islands.

Mabel winced; she had not realized how big of a mess those were going to make before they finally went out.

“Truly, ‘tis a dark day this night,” she lamented, accepting the spoon and the scrubbing brush Stan handed her, as Dipper took a washcloth and a bucket of warm soapy water from Ford.  “Woe that I did not procure some handy bowl or earthen basin, the better to hold these friendly flame-bearers and thus not despoil our sturdy help-meet, the floor!”

Huh.  Speaking like this was actually kind of fun, even though it took you twice as long to say what you wanted to.

“You’re also lucky you didn’t accidentally set the floor on fire,” Grunkle Stan pointed out.  “If you had you’d be in a lot more trouble, believe me.”

 

Dipper got to work using the spoon to push up the wax, which at least was hard-yet-crumbly enough that it wasn’t too impossible to work free.  Then Mabel would come in with the scrub brush and water in case there was anything he’d missed, before rubbing down the whole spot with the washcloth.

Their grunkles settled on the beds, and Stan retrieved his fez from Dipper’s pillow.

“We also decided that we’re gonna entertain you kids while you work.  With this!” And he produced…

“Nay!” Dipper wailed, suddenly lunging forwards and clinging to Stan’s leg.  “Honored uncles, kill us, shoot us, leave us to be a feast for bears and crows, send us to the Antipodes ne'ermore to see the faces of kith and kin, but _please_ , torment us not with yon book of quips and puns!”

Stan rolled his eyes, and set down his jokebook so he could more easily pry his nephew off.  “Hot Belgian waffles, kid, this spell is making you even more of a drama queen than usual. Besides, you laughed at a few of these when we went fishing, don’t deny it.”

Ford looked up at him with interest.  “You took them fishing?”

“Yeah, earlier this summer.”  Stan finally succeeded in freeing his leg, and Dipper sulkily went back to work.  “We managed to get through the first few pages, but we didn’t get to the really _good_ ones yet.”

 

“Bravo, sister mine,” Dipper grumbled at Mabel as he savagely chipped off a large clump of wax that went flying under her bed.  “Twas well played indeed, thy clever scheme which has profited us so well.”

Mabel sighed, and used the brush to drag the wax back out so she could drop it in the trash can.

“Peace, brother.  Methinks the outcome well worth whatever afflictions we may suffer for our subterfuges.”

Dipper said nothing; but, as Ford laughed loudly at Stan’s latest terrible punchline and Stan tossed his twin the book so he could tell the next one, she saw her brother’s mouth curve up at the edges.

So she knew that he privately agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah!  
> I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm rather pleased with how it turned out.  
> Hopefully you, my faithful readers, feel the same way.  
> G'night, everybody!  
> *Disappears in puff of smoke*


End file.
